Alec

“Discipline, and what it brings with it -- that is to say, subordination -- is only acceptable (and this goes for any other relationship imposed by law) where it is based not only on a mutual acceptance of its necessity, but also on the subordinate's acknowledgement that his superior has greater experience, greater military prowess, or even just greater moral qualities. But as soon as discipline is found, as so often happens in our society, on casual chance or the money principle, it always degenerates into self-importance on the one side, and concealed envy and resentment on the other. The result is that discipline, instead of usefully uniting a mass of men into a single unit, produces exactly the opposite effect. A man who finds himself unable to inspire respect by virtue of his own intrinsic merits instinctively fears close contact with his subordinates, and does his best to ward off criticism by assuming the outward trappings of importance. And his subordinates, seeing only this superficial aspect of the man and finding it offensive, are apt to conclude -- usually unjustly -- that nothing good lies behind it.”
― Tolstoy Leo Nikolaevich

“With or without religion, good people can behave well and bad people can do evil; but for good people to do evil - that takes religion.”
― Steven Weinberg

“Gods, what an easy life the Guild-beggars have," the other niche-guard observed to his mate. "What slack discipline and low standards of skill! Perfect, my sacred butt! You'd think a child could see through those disguises."
"Doubtless some children do," his mate retorted. "But their dear mothers and fathers only drop a tear and a coin or give a kick. Grown folk go blind, lost in their toil and dreams, unless they have a profession such as thieving which keeps them mindful of things as they really are.”
― Fritz Leiber, Swords and Deviltry

“Nothing like changing your illusions,” she said, “or you grow tired. London’s a fine place but one wants to see the elfin mountains sometimes.”

“Then you know London?” I said.

“Of course I do,” she said. “I can dream as well as you. You are not the only person that can imagine London.” Men were toiling dreadfully in her garden; it was in the heat of the day and they were digging with spades; she suddenly turned from me to beat one of them over the back with a long black stick that she carried. “Even my poets go to London sometimes,” she said to me.

“Why did you beat that man?” I said.

“To make him work,” she answered.

“But he is tired,” I said.

“Of course he is,” said she.

And I looked and saw that the earth was difficult and dry and that every spadeful that the tired men lifted was full of pearls; but some men sat quite still and watched the butterflies that flitted about the garden and the old witch did not beat them with her stick. And when I asked her who the diggers were she said, “These are my poets, they are digging for pearls.” And when I asked her what so many pearls were for she said to me: “To feed the pigs of course.”

“But do the pigs like pearls?” I said to her.

“Of course they don’t,” she said.”
― Lord Dunsany, Tales of Three Hemispheres